How Minerva McGonagall Got Her Paws
by cottonflowers
Summary: With the help of her friend and mentor Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall takes a new shape.


Title: How Minerva McGonagall Got Her Paws

Rating: G

Summary: With the help of her friend and mentor Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall takes a new shape.

Pairings: None really, but I suppose you could look at the Minerva/Dumbledore element as friendship, pre-relationship or relationship.

* * *

"Again."

Exhausted, weary, every single muscle throughout the body straining in protest. "I can't."

Cocking his head, Albus Dumbledore folded his hands as though in prayer. His expression was one of observation, devoid of much emotion, but his blue eyes twinkled with a blend of amusement and determination. "This is what you wanted, isn't it, Minerva?"

"Yes, but...." Her voice trailed off as she sank down to the ground, her legs too tired to bear her weight any longer. Youngish, twenty-something, she was the prettiest professor on staff, and the newest. Like most entry level teachers, she felt she needed to give the profession her all, but her dedication went beyond the ordinary level into something that bordered upon fanatical. Half the night, every night, she was awake, paging through dusty tomes on Transfiguration, her pet subject. Sometimes, it was nearly dawn when she finally fell asleep at her desk, unable to keep her eyes open any longer as the candles burned slowly down to wax puddles. The cost of such effort took a visible toll: Dumbledore could see the purplish shadows spreading wings underneath her eyes, and her skin had grown paler. "Professor, I'm ---"

"Albus, please."

"Albus." She swallowed, risking a glance at his face, but the reassuring smile he offered did little to make her feel more at ease. He had taught her, after all. They had been professor and student, never before equals, and she was still adjusting. "I can't do anymore tonight, Albus. We've been practicing for hours!" Realizing that she had raised her voice, she covered her mouth with her palm, but Albus did not react to her show of temper.

Behind the desk, Albus reached for one of the wax-sealed scrolls piled upon his desk; requests for advice from the Minister of Magic. Opening it, he dropped his eyes. "Perhaps you should go and rest, Minerva," he spoke dismissively. "After all, you have a long day of teaching ahead of you tomorrow. Undoubtedly, you would also like to spend some time planning your lessons." Unable to resist the slightest dig, he added "Weren't you planning on introducing the subject of Animagus transformation to your fourth and fifth years this week?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, showing a spark of that flinty determination which had been the main reason he had hired her to the post. Of course, Minerva had come to him highly qualified. She knew her subject inside and out, and could have taught adequately in her sleep. Then again, Hogwarts was _the_ wizarding school of the United Kingdom, the only well-known establishment of magical education for young witches and wizards in the vicinity. Only the best applicants were hired, but it seemed like at least a hundred applied to every position, and out of those, a dozen were capable of grappling with the demands of the occupation. Minerva had been chosen, not merely for her credentials, but for her ambition. She wanted to excel and help others to succeed. There was a passion burning within her, a love of her subject that shone clearly through whenever she discussed the topic. While she could be strict in the classroom, most students saw past the stern facade and came to realize her skill and interest. _And that is why you're here, Minerva_, Dumbledore thought, with the hint of a smile.

"I was...." Minerva hedged. Tapping her wand with her fingers, she tried once more. By now, the silent, unspoken incantation had committed to memory following scores of practice sessions. That was the easy part. Her wand clattered to the ground and rolled across the floor as Minerva curved over herself suddenly, doubling up like a person suffering from terrible stomach pains. Unconsciously, she rose onto tip-toe, legs tensing. Fingers curled into the shape of claws as she shrank down. For a bare instant, a tabby cat paused in the place where Professor McGonagall had stood. Then, the air seemed to flicker like haze on a sunny, humid day, and she was back.

"Ouch!" Tears welled up in her eyes, and Minerva removed her glasses, dabbing at them. A blush heated her face, staining her cheeks. Cramps rippled down her spine and thighs, and she stretched her arms above her head to release the painful tension in her shoulders. "Albus...."

"Spot on perfect," Dumbledore spoke, with sincere appreciation. "For a moment, you were completely, unmistakably, a cat. Your hard work seems to be paying off, Professor McGonagall." He tipped her a wink. "Now, if you can learn to sustain that shape, to really adopt it as your own, and to move within it, you will be able to consider yourself a successful Animagus."

Books, lined up in a neat stack, caught her eye. "Perhaps I should study the theory further," Minerva spoke doubtfully, moving in the direction of the chair once more.

"You've studied for hours, nightly. Weeks, months - how many years since you first became intrigued with the subject of Animagi?"

"Years ago," Minerva spoke, waving her hand. A mental picture formed within her mind, a memory of what it had been like to bend over study desk as a fourth year, poring for the first time over the books that spoke of the rare magical secret few studied and even less successfully managed to work. Tracing her finger over illustrations of wizards turning into exotic tigers, fast-running steeds and, in rare cases, flighty turkeys or pink piglets, she had dreamed of someday being able to accomplish the feat. "I never realized until recently precisely how difficult the magic actually is."

Dumbledore nodded. "It takes hard work, like all useful skills."

"Yes, well...."

"Try again," Albus invited. He waved his hand, indicating for her to rise. "You know the spells in and out, Minerva. Reading the theory scores of times cannot substitute for physical practice. What you lack is the proper mindset. A cat," he proposed poetically. "What is a cat?"

Frowning, brow furrowed, Minerva stared at him. "I'm not sure what you mean, Professor -- er, Albus," she corrected hastily.

"An animal," Dumbledore continued. "Tell me more."

"A predator, yet playful," Minerva answered sceptically.

He beamed. "Yes, yes. Good! Small in physical stature, and yet unconfined. Picture yourself as a cat, Minerva. Imagine how it must feel, what thoughts could arise to your mind in such a state."

"Clever, cautious..." Minerva spared another longing glance at the pile of books. Their straightforward, technical approach appealed to her, and made more sense than Albus' advice, and yet she knew they could not provide the answers she needed. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself a cat, according to his instructions, while mentally running over the incantation once again. She imagined the feel of fur bristling from her skin, whiskers quivering in a gentle breeze, telling her which way to turn. The smell of dust, milk. She could almost hear the whispering rustle of wind through the tree branches outside, beyond the window, and mice scurrying in walls; sounds too small for human ears to detect. Tense muscles full of energy, waiting to jump and pounce, then spilling languidly across the floor, seeking warmth and sunlight. Minerva smiled.

She opened her eyes, prepared to look at Albus for further instruction, but she could not see him. The desk seemed to have risen ten feet from the floor, rising over her head, obscuring her view. In the flicker of a cat's heartbeat, she knew what had happened, and as if to confirm the truth, she heard Albus' voice, astonishingly loud, laughing and congratulating her on the accomplishment. Tensing her hind legs, Minerva jumped up onto the chair on which she had previously sat, scanning the room through different eyes. The same shapes and forms, but different too. She could taste and smell things like never before.

"Nicely done, Professor McGonagall," boomed Dumbledore's merry voice. He watched her with his bright eyes, rubbing his fingers, and laughed as she leapt carelessly onto his desk with ease. The markings around her face betrayed a hint of the glasses she normally wore, but she was indistinguishable from any other cat. "Very well done indeed! Your students will no doubt be wildly impressed, should you choose to display this newfound talent."

Demurely, Minerva cocked her head at him, her amber eyes unblinking. Then, casually, she raised her front left paw and delicately began to lick it clean.


End file.
